Something About Witches

She’d held off on her shields as long as she could so as not to warn the demon. It might be minutes or seconds; time lost meaning. She couldn’t see whether Asmodeus had managed to protect himself, whether Derek was all right. Though he’d probably give her hell about it later, she’d found the power in that last blink to throw a net over him as well, not knowing how hurt he was at this point or whether he had the strength to protect himself from something of this magnitude so quickly.



Pieces of her soul had paid for that magic. Now that it was released, her soul weakened, the connection lost. She focused all her will on holding her own shields, holding Derek’s. And with fierce resolve, holding that one tiny spark against her breast, all that remained of the sphere.



As the light cleared, she blinked, oriented herself. It was hard. She was dazed, as if she’d been caught in a bomb blast in truth. But she had to see; it was critical, because the job wasn’t done. She wished it was, but she was sure it wasn’t.



There. Asmodeus was still holding himself up, still corporeal, but he was struggling. The pieces, charged by love and Light, had embedded themselves in him like shrapnel, and they were eating at his skin. He was losing ground, but unless she could weaken that corporeal form further, he might rebound. Unfortunately, she was too weak, no magical energy left, and she didn’t see Derek. Just a pile of rock where he’d been, another chunk torn out of the wall. Derek.



Goddamn it all. Her lip curling back from her teeth, she reached beneath her shirt, drew the Sig and fired.



Fifteen shots in the mag. Despite her weakening body and the recoil of the powerful gun, she did it steady and one-handed, emptying every bit of it into Asmodeus, blowing chunks of his torso away, tearing those nice clothes. No, she couldn’t kill a demon. But an unexpected attack on the shell? Maybe that would be her ace in the hole. Goddess knew, it was the last card she had to play. She was slipping off the edge of the too-narrow ledge, had no strength left to hold her up. But that was irrelevant. She just had to stay high enough, long enough, for this.



The demon was howling, snarling, his body twisting. The precious bit of Rose pulsed against Ruby’s heart, even as her mother’s breath got more labored. She was going to slip, needed to let go of Rose. Free, the baby’s soul would float, get where she needed to go. She hoped. If that happened, nothing else mattered. She had to believe Derek was alive, would make sure of it. He was invincible, her cowboy.



Then she felt him. His magic reached out to her, twining around her, holding her up. She sobbed at the sheer physical relief, like a climber who’d been hanging on to a ledge for so long that being hauled up was a pleasurable agony.



His hands were on her now, pulling her back into the widened opening to the anteroom chamber, which, thanks to the Asmodeus & Derek Demolition Company, had a spacious front-row view to the chasm of Hell. Managing a quick look up into his bloodstained face, she immediately picked up on his lead. Reaching out with her free hand, holding that spark against her breast with the other, she clasped his wrist so the reserve of power she found now, bolstered by his presence, came surging through her and joined his.



His body pressed against hers, arms out to either side, all that energy coalescing and firing through his palms as if he were a two-pistoled gunfighter. Every shard of power that shot from him like lightning from a cloud was focused as a laser, the circle of protective power and energy around him as solid as a wall. They let Asmodeus have it, a combined volley of Derek’s energy and Ruby’s will.



Twining together their magic with effortless artistry, he used it with ruthless power to send her enemy back to Hell where he belonged. And at every point their bodies touched, that power coursed through her as well.



Melded together in their intent, it was the most incredible thing she’d ever felt.



Then the feeling was gone, fading. She watched blearily as Asmodeus fell with his soul-eaters, disappearing in a chaotic spiral of wings. He bounced off those rocks, just as she’d imagined herself doing. Boing, boing, bang. And don’t come back, asshole. I’m not weak. I’m not your victim. I’m nobody’s victim.



She was suddenly having a hard time breathing. As Derek lowered her to the floor, she noticed the rainstick next to them, a rainstick once more, and touched it. It almost made her smile. He’d used it as a weapon, but it had also been used to soothe a little girl. That was the way power worked. As she moved it, it made its little metallic shower of comforting sound. Derek was there, crouched over her, cradling her face. “Ruby? Ruby, girl, look at me.”



She gazed up at him. He was too pale under his tan. She could smell his blood, feel it in the tremor in his hands. “I’m sorry. It hurts. It hurts so badly.”



“I know.” His countenance darkened. “Hold on.”



But her attention shifted, and Derek looked over his shoulder to track it. He spun, rising to his feet to block her, but she caught the leg of his jeans, shaking her head. “No…. he’s come before.”



Derek glanced down at her, saw the truth of it, then looked back to the silent visitor, gauging who and what he was. When he figured it out, she saw his broad shoulders ease, even as his mouth tightened, understanding.



Ruby swallowed. Every time this being had come, she’d defied the apparition, blocked him, refused to give him what he wanted, as fiercely as she’d just denied Asmodeus. But she couldn’t deny him this time. Derek had helped her see. She had to do it. She knew that, just as she knew she’d never reach a point when she was truly ready to do it.



The death angel spread his wings to half fold, his expression somber, waiting. He wasn’t unkind. In fact, there was a deep compassion beneath his ruthless inevitability. He didn’t reach out, didn’t push her. He simply waited, a force as undeniable as the ocean.



“Can you help her?” Derek asked. He’d dropped back on his heels, his hand on Ruby’s shoulder. She was shaking, too, she realized vaguely. It didn’t matter.



The angel shook his head, nodded toward what she had at her breast. She made herself look up at Derek, held on to the strength in his blue eyes. The grief he showed her openly, sharing it with her.



“I would have loved her so much, Derek.”



“You did love her, baby. You do. You always will. Be her mother. Let her go. Just like you told me.”



She bent her head, touched her lips to that bundle of light, now no longer in a heaven of her making. But she’d made sure the soul had stayed close to her breast, had given her that tiny, thin cocoon as the rest of the magic was pulled away. The baby’s soul was aware things had changed, but she wasn’t afraid. She was with her mother. She would take her mother’s love with her, and she would be happy, because Ruby couldn’t bear to think anything else.



Lifting her head, she cupped both hands around that soul, and extended it to Derek. “You hold her. Give her…. to him.”



Derek nodded. His expression was full of emotion too painful for her to see as he cradled the much smaller sphere in his hands. As she had, he bent his head over it, laid his lips on it, his eyes closing. She imagined he was saying a prayer for their daughter. Knowing Derek, it included the stern admonition that the angels had better take care of her, or he’d come kick some major ass. She’d have smiled over it, if her smiles didn’t feel far away, in some part of her she’d given away.



He handed over the spark. The angel took it, in the same gentle manner, nodded to them both. Then he was simply gone, and the chamber was empty, silent, except for the whistle of air coming up through that chasm in front of them. Or maybe it was the chasm inside of her, where a whole soul used to be.



HER BREATHING WAS GETTING MORE LABORED. “I GUESS you’ll need TO repair that,” she said at length, gazing at the abyss.



“One thing at a time. You first.”



“Any good ideas on that?” She managed a wry smile that he didn’t answer, his gaze concerned, worried. “My body won’t die, but without those soul pieces….”



She was a broken porcelain figure, holes and cracks. She couldn’t move without risk of further breakage. She didn’t want to move. “What do you think we should do?”



“You marry me; we have two point five kids, a picket fence and a golden retriever that will bite Raina when she comes to visit us.”



“Theo may have something to say about that.”



“I know— he’d rather have the pleasure of biting Raina. We’ll make sure the golden’s a girl for him.”



“He’s been neutered.”



“A guy can still flirt.”



He was lifting her, though she felt the strain of it in his body. “You broke ribs. How are you….”



“Not broken. Just extremely bruised. He got in a lucky strike.”



“Yeah, right.” She laid her head on his shoulder as he carried her back up the stairs to the basement area. Once there, he laid her on the floor, took the piece of broken rock he’d brought with him and began to etch a circle around her in the dirt. “What—”



“Lie still, baby. I’m going to make it all better.”



He drew the circle, cast it with a deftness that would have impressed her with its immediate solidity and weight if she wasn’t drifting, purposeless. It was so hard to care about anything, but it still hurt like hell. How weird was that? She came back to the present fast when he used his pocket knife to cut open the shirt she was wearing. He drew the blade across his wrist, the blood welling up, bright and red. The drops pattered onto her sternum.



“Derek, no….” She knew this magic, knew it was never done. Rarely done. People gave kidneys to loved ones, because that was the nature of those organs; they had two of them, after all. She tried to lift her hands, but he simply pressed them down, out of his way, as he began the chant. Laying his hand over that blood on her chest, he charged it with his intent.



Even if she could accept that he was about to do this, it required a full coven. He couldn’t do it alone. Not and have any strength left when it was over. No matter how well he’d done at the end, she knew he wasn’t at full peak.